


must cry out loud

by andnowforyaya



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fights, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: He wanted to shake himself apart. In pieces, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 40
Kudos: 394
Collections: BBBFest Debut Round: The Bittersweet Option





	must cry out loud

**Author's Note:**

> for [bbb fest](https://bbbfest.carrd.co/#rules)! thank you to a and r for your support and proofreading <3
> 
> please take care of yourselves ♥️  
> #

Here come my tears  
Like a dancer on a stage

I got nothing to fear  
Just a hurricane of feeling

_i must cry out loud_ , mother mother

.

Ten was used to making mistakes in front of the camera when he spoke -- constantly switching between 4 languages and never quite knowing where he was in the world were ingredients to a now-familiar recipe and he swallowed the resulting blunders and mix-ups with humility and a thirst to continue learning and practicing so that he’d never make the same mistake twice. It helped that all of his bandmates from all of his teams were understanding, and played off his mistakes as cute and endearing.  _ Oh, that Ten, so many languages but not quite fluent in any of them. Next thing you know, he’ll be learning Japanese! _

What Ten was not used to was making a mistake during a run-through of their choreo and having everything come crashing down around him for it. He was a dancer. The fluidity in his limbs and movements were gained through thousands of hours of practice, through rivers of spilt blood and gritty sweat and salty tears. 

Dancing didn’t require code-switching; it was universal. And he was good at it. 

So when he was onstage with the rest of WayV and the group stepped to the left while Ten stepped to the right in the middle of a song, all he could do was stare wide-eyed at Kun, whose eyebrows had dipped sharply in his forehead, as Ten crashed into Lucas’ hard, toned body and, like a ping-pong ball, ricocheted off his arm and teetered on the edge of the stage.

The lights above them were bright and hot. It had rained earlier in the day, and parts of the stage were still slick with water.

Ten blinked.

He fell, and as he fell, he thought to himself:  _ At least this is just a practice-run, so the fans don’t have to see this. _

.

Earlier that day, they were being shuttled to the venue in a van. It was just one of those days where everything was pressing in too closely around Ten. He'd spilled coffee all over Hendery in the kitchen that morning by accident, he'd stubbed his toe against the door to their bedroom, and he'd nearly chewed Yangyang's head off when he couldn't find his Apple Pen, thinking that Yangyang had hidden it or misplaced it somewhere (Yangyang ended up finding it squashed in between the cushions of the couch in the living room, where Ten had last been sitting with his iPad in his lap).

Apologies made, he couldn't figure out what it was about today that made it feel like he'd eaten a hornet's nest and that all of the insects were still alive and buzzing around just under his skin, in his belly, in his throat.

Maybe because he'd only slept two hours last night, having been kept up by a mix of anxiety and excitement for today's fanmeet and the copious amounts of coffee he'd ingested the day before. Maybe because every time he looked at the set list, he kept wondering why Super Car wasn't one of their acts before remembering he was with WayV and they were in Shenzhen and that he was not with Super M in Los Angeles. Maybe because Kun kept looking at him with what Ten knew was a mixture of concern and exasperation but he wouldn't say anything, which frustrated Ten more than anything else.

"What?" he snapped when they went over a hump and he knocked his head against the window as the van rumbled onward.

Kun's eyes darted away from him and his throat bobbed. "Nothing," Kun said.

"If you want to say something, say it."

The van went quiet all around them. The kids were in the backseat, still and silent like students before a disciplinary squad. Ten noticed that their manager in the front seat made eye contact with Kun in the rear view mirror. He suddenly felt like a volcano about to erupt. Why was everyone walking on eggshells around him?

"Ten," Kun said with a sigh. "Not now."

"Not now, what?"

"We're nearly there. Put on your game face."

Ten scowled and felt a nasty smirk creep across his lips. "You don't have to tell me that."

"Today? I think I do."

The van rolled to a stop as they stared at each other. Kun's expression was like stone -- cold and stoic and immovable. Unfeeling. Ten wanted to rail against it, that expression, that body. Today, he was a tornado and Kun was the mountain range that threatened to cut through his tight spiral.

Ten breathed in deep through his nostrils and plastered a bright, saccharine smile on his face. "Fuck off," he said. He heard Xuxi gasp behind them. He turned and slid open the van's side door before Kun had the chance to respond.

.

For a moment when Ten opened in his eyes, he thought he was still on stage. The lights were just as hot and just as bright, but as he blinked some more to adjust, he realized he was somewhere else. Somewhere just as familiar.

The hospital.

He groaned and tried to sit up, only to find that his body was as heavy as lead and that he couldn’t so much as lift a finger, no matter how much he willed it. His mind, also, was sluggish and slow. He had enough consciousness to be alarmed by it and screwed his eyes shut as they watered with tears. Had he fallen? He must have. Did the fans hear about this? Were they worried? He needed to reassure them that he was fine. He’d be fine.

“You’re awake,” someone said to Ten’s left. He struggled to crane his head so that he could look in that direction. Though he was stiff, he could move it, which gave Ten some relief; he wasn’t paralyzed. Kun sat in the chair next to the hospital bed. He had changed into a hoodie and gym pants, but he still had on his hair and makeup that would have been for their performance. His eyeliner and eyeshadow had formed bruises around his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Did you--?” Ten croaked out the words and realized his throat was as dry as a desert. He coughed, and a numb pain throbbed in his chest. Kun hurried to stand and pressed the button on the side of the bed that would bring Ten up into a reclining seated position, relieving the pressure on his lungs. He held a cup of water with a straw in it up to Ten’s lips, and Ten sipped at the cool liquid gratefully.

“We did,” Kun said quietly. “It was a mess, and awful, but we couldn’t back out, and… Oh, Ten, it was horrible. When you--” He sighed as his voice wobbled and broke, and when Ten looked at him he saw how streaks of pale skin shone through on his face in the places where his tears had carved trenches through the makeup. Ten finished half of the water and pulled away. Kun put the cup back down onto the side table and said, “I asked Sicheng to get the manager as soon as we saw you were waking up. Xuxi is still here, too. The others have gone back to the dorm. We were really -- watching you fall was really scary.”

“Bet it was a relief,” Ten muttered, that pressure back on his lungs making it difficult to breathe.

Kun looked at him sharply. “What does that mean?"

The morning had been as tense as a violin's string just before it snapped. Ten recalled the fight in the van and the hours of stubborn silence after. He'd gone out of his way to avoid Kun backstage, sprinting and speeding through the hallways and refusing to make eye contact with him even as the start of the fanmeet neared. He'd both wanted Kun to chase him down to make things right between them and dreaded reconciliation to the pit of his core.

"That I wasn't up there, with you," Ten said, looking down into his lap. "Making things difficult."

"Is this about this morning, Ten?"

Ten's lips formed a thin line as his jaw clenched tight.

Kun scrubbed his fingers through his hair so that it stood up around his head like a wild nest. "We're way past that. Put your pride away."

"My  _ pride _ \--?" Ten drew in a huge breath and felt the fracture in his ribs like it was a hot iron pressed against his skin. "I see--" Tears jumped up into his eyes. He wanted to shake himself apart. In pieces, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much.

"Ten, this is more than--"

"Get out," Ten whispered.

"Ten--"

Ten grit his teeth through the rolling waves of pain that washed over him. _"Get. out."_

Still, Kun lingered for another moment, even as Ten refused to look at him. Out of the corner of Ten's eye, he saw Kun stand, saw him rock on his heels.

“They should have cleaned the fucking stage,” Kun said quietly, anger roiling off of his form. Ten could barely feel his fingers. He was numb all over, like his body had taken on the form of a cloud. “I'm sorry about this. The worst part is over,” Kun said. “I know you’ll get through this. We’ll get through this, together.”

.

The worst part was not over. 

There was a leaked video going around of the fall. Ten and Yangyang stumbled upon it while browsing through social media on Yangyang’s phone, and Ten could only stomach watching it twice before it became too much for him, making his head pound and spin. SM’s legal team took every action to remove the video from the internet, but this hadn’t stopped some fans from already seeing it. SM released a rather standard statement in response: that they took care of their artists, that Ten was receiving the very best medical care for his injuries, that they hoped for him to be back after a full recovery. Ten was not allowed to use social media to communicate with fans.

Because of the way he’d fallen, his whole left side was basically out of commission. Broken arm, fractured ribs, busted ankle. Living in the dorm for at least the first few weeks was out of the question, so instead, his mom flew out from Bangkok to become his caretaker and they rented a room in a private, secluded hotel that fell under SM’s umbrella, and his manager came by to check on them almost daily. Though he loved being able to spend time with his mother, by the end of the third week when she flew back home, Ten felt like a wild animal in a cage.

His ankle still tender but mostly healed, his ribs still knitting together, and his arm still in a sling, Ten moved back into the dorm and into chaos.

Had things always been this loud? This messy? In the three weeks that had passed without him in the dorm, clutter from the rooms had leaked into the common spaces. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink. Empty pizza boxes were stacked on top of the trash can, which was close to overflowing. He knew the boys had still gone to schedules without him, but he didn’t think this was a good excuse for letting their living space come to ruin.

“I’m gone for three weeks and this place turns into a dump,” were Ten’s first words to Kun when he stepped back into the dorm, his ankle in a boot and a suitcase trailing behind him. Kun winced, and Ten didn’t have the energy in him to apologize for his poor choice of words.

“Well, you know,” Kun said, hugging him gently and being careful with his arm. “You’re the one who’s always on us to clean. We need you.”

“Pfft,” Ten scoffed. 

He received welcome hugs home from all the others, though Xuxi was hesitant and last.

“Ge,” Xuxi said as he approached Ten, his shoulders shrunken from their usual wide berth. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For -- I ran into you.” Xuxi’s skin had lost its glow. Where once he’d been golden and radiant, now he was sallow and pale. His lips were chapped from being gnawed on constantly in worry and guilt. Ten hadn’t thought at all about how Xuxi might think the accident had been his fault, but now that he was in front of him, of course that was how Xuxi had interpreted the fall in his head. Kind, warm-hearted Xuxi. 

Ten held his arm out and hobbled over to his younger bandmate, and squashed his cheek into Xuxi’s shoulder. He felt Xuxi sigh as he wrapped his arms around him. “I should have called you more. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. I messed up. The stage was slippery. It was an accident, Xuxi.” Xuxi held him tighter and Ten wheezed against his chest. “Stop! My ribs--”

Xuxi let go, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Sorry,” he said again. 

The worst part was how things changed, how no matter how much support and love Ten received, at the end of it all, the injuries were his, and so the recovery was his, also.

And in that, he was alone.

.

Their next fanmeet would be in Seoul. While the other members were practicing their group’s choreography modified for six instead of seven, Ten went to his physical therapy appointments with his manager, lugging his bulky ankle trapped in a boot like it was a ball and chain. The injuries made him feel ugly and incompetent; he needed his manager's help to undress, to wash, to redress. The cast molded around his arm was itchy and hot, and the bruises mottling the left side of his ribs painted almost his entire torso in vivid blues and purples. He didn't want anyone else to see them, so he kept to himself when he could. Out of the way. Out of sight.

He woke to an empty dorm and came back to an empty dorm, and was often too exhausted to stay up into the late hours of the night when the other boys would be coming back from practice, or dinner. He napped a lot and blamed it on his pain medication for making him drowsy.

It was strange, existing in the fringes like this. Being part of a group and yet not. In the three weeks Ten had been holed up in the hotel room with his mother and his manager, the others had moved on: their new choreo was tight and fluid, their smiles bright and practiced, and they could spit out talking points about Ten’s accident and their hopes for a successful recovery with a snap of anyone’s fingers. In the weeks that followed back in the dorm, he was like a ghost that lived in their walls.

It was like he was watching a movie of their lives but could not reach out to touch any one of them, like even if he did reach out, he’d brush up against film and not skin. He sketched out the disconnect he felt on his iPad but didn’t show the drawing to anyone, feeling embarrassed and a little wretched for being weak enough to let his injuries create distance between himself and the others. It was only a few more weeks, and things would be back to normal, right?

But what did normal even look like anymore? One night he managed to stay up as they rolled back into the dorm after dinner, still smelling of grilled meat and sweat, and together in the living room they watched the practice video that had been filmed earlier this morning at the studio to pick apart the places where they needed to be better together, but to Ten, the formations they made without him looked fine. 

Without him, Yangyang got the chance to shine in the center. Without him, Dejun and Sicheng got more lines. 

He mumbled that he had a headache before he'd have to sit through another playback and left the living room to a chorus of questions about his well-being, but Ten ignored them all, his head pounding.

No one came after him.

.

Halfway through the night, Ten's eyelids flew open like a light had been switched on inside of him. Cursing the multiple naps he'd taken earlier in the day, Ten lay flat on his back and tried going back to sleep. He counted sheep. He counted stars. He closed his eyes and imagined himself sleeping, thinking he could trick himself into being tired. Across the room, Hendery snored.

Ten put his pillow over his face and groaned. Underneath the covers it was boiling, and his left leg was starting to feel the way static sounds -- like there were thousands of ants crawling over his skin. He sat up carefully, sweat gathering at his hairline with the effort, his breathing labored as his ribs tried to keep up with the new position of his torso, and pushed the blankets off of his body.

He felt like he'd swallowed a desert.

He got out of bed and stood, keeping his weight mostly on his right foot. He didn’t need to sleep in the boot and was weaning himself out of it daily as his left ankle regained and built up strength again, but it was still tender. With as little noise as possible, Ten limped over to the door and let himself out. 

The living room was dark and quiet. He fumbled through the room in near-blindness with one arm stretched out in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the tar-like darkness, making his way over to the kitchen. Even still, he ran into the back of the couch with his hip, the jolt feeling like it had rattled every single bone in his body. He couldn’t help the muffled cry that left his lips as his eyes watered with the intensity of the pain. He clapped his hand over his mouth and tried to breathe only through his nostrils. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself.

It took what felt like a full minute for the ringing in his ears to subside, and when it did, he could move again. The light switch for the kitchen was by his hand on the wall. He flicked it on and let the glare burn into his retinas as he ambled over to the counter and tried to raise his arm above his head high enough to open the doors to the cabinets above the granite top. 

His side pinched sharply, the reverberations traveling all the way down his leg, and he gasped as he folded into himself over the counter. Had he taken his pain medication that night? He couldn’t remember. He felt cool sweat forming over his upper lip at the effort that trying to bring a sachet of tea down from a shelf cost him and blinked hot, burning frustration from his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Kun’s voice, soft and steady, came from behind. Ten jumped and spun on his good heel, catching the worry on Kun’s face like a hook around his chest.

“Making tea,” Ten said. There was no strength behind his voice anymore. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was lie down and never get up again. He knew he wasn’t handling his injuries well but there was nothing he could do about that. He hurt. He was alone. His family didn’t need him.

Kun approached him carefully with his hands outstretched, like Ten was an animal he’d caught in a trap. “Do you have a fever?” he asked. “You’re all pale and sweaty.”

“Yeah, I look like shit. I know,” Ten spat, rolling his eyes. The harmless movement pushed him off-balance, and he had to slap his hand against the counter to stay upright when a wave of dizziness washed over him and black spots danced in his vision. “Woah.”

Kun closed the distance between them and cupped his hand around the small of Ten’s back. “I think you should sit,” Kun said, guiding him to one of two chairs by the breakfast table in the kitchen. It felt like ages since Kun, since anyone other than his physical therapist, had touched Ten like this, and he leaned into the touch with an embarrassingly needy sound. 

“I’m not completely helpless,” Ten protested nonetheless as Kun nudged into the seat. “I’m not.”

“I know,” Kun said. “I’ll make the tea. I was going to, anyway.”

“At three in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kun said, throwing a smirk at Ten over his shoulder as he set the electric kettle to boil again and brought the tea down from the shelf in the cabinet. “I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.” Kun shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ten cupped his hands around the steaming mug of tea Kun placed in front of him on the table, looking down into its depths. A sweet, earthy fragrance rose from the surface. It stung his eyes. Weeks ago, Kun would have answered his question without hesitation, sharing his fears and concerns and struggles as a leader, as a friend. Theirs was a relationship of opposites; though they bickered often and about everything, the times they came together felt truly sincere and deep. Ten could share anything with Kun, and Kun could share anything with Ten, and they’d talk through each other’s challenges together, leaning on each other, learning from each other.

Maybe that wasn’t the case anymore. Maybe Kun had found what he’d had with Ten in someone else, except this time, without the bickering and the arguments.

“Hey,” Kun said, taking the seat opposite him with a mug of his own. “I just mean I don’t want you to worry about it. I want you fully focused on your own recovery. We need you back with us.”

Ten shuddered as all the turmoil and pain from the past few weeks clanged to the surface. It crawled out of him like emotional vomit. He felt tears splash down the front of his cheeks as he bit hard into his bottom lip to stifle another cry. “You don’t need me,” Ten said.

Kun’s dark eyes went wide. He reached out to take both of Ten’s hands into his own, careful about moving Ten’s left arm. “What are you talking about? Of course we need you.”

Ten felt like his chest was caving in. Kun was just saying these things to be nice. He’d seen it with his own eyes, how the group thrived when he wasn’t around making mistakes in Mandarin and English and Korean, when he wasn’t around messing up the harmonies, when he wasn’t around mixing up their group’s choreo with Super M’s. Being in constant, numbing pain was exhausting, and he thought that just one more misstep into a corner of furniture might just make him crumble into dust. “You don’t. You’re fine without me. You’re  _ better  _ without me. I’m clumsy and dumb,” Ten rambled as he cried harder. “All I do is mess things up.”

“That’s not true--”

“You don’t need me in the choreo.”

“For just a few stops. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“You guys don’t hang out with me anymore.”

“It’s just so busy. And you’re always napping when we’re around after practice--”

“You go out to eat without me.”

“Your PT appointments--”

“Fuck, Kun,” Ten hissed, raw pain making his voice hoarse. He ripped his hands from Kun’s. His heart was on a rampage inside of his chest, each beat falling with the weight of a hammer. “So it’s my fault?”

Kun blinked at him slowly, his cheeks flushed pink, his nostrils flaring. “No,” he said. “No. Of course not. That’s not what I meant." Kun tried to reach for him, but when Ten shrank away from his touch, Kun stayed his hands. "You -- you’re frustrated and hurt. I can see that. I’m sorry. C’mere. I’m sorry for making excuses. I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you some space to heal. That backfired. I keep messing up with you and I don’t know what to do. You can talk about everything but your own feelings. C’mere, please?”

“Space to heal?” Ten repeated in a tiny voice. He came around to Kun’s side of the table and sighed shakily when Kun curved his arms around his waist and held him like that, Ten between his knees, Kun’s face against Ten’s belly. “You left me _alone_.”

“I was scared,” Kun whispered.

“Of what?”

“Of how you fell. Of how I saw you fall every time I looked at you. I was afraid you were mad at me still for the stupid fight we'd had that morning. I was afraid you blamed me for what happened to you. I was afraid of that look on your face, just before you fell. You needed me. And I wasn't there." The front of Ten’s shirt was wet with Kun’s quiet tears. "I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep myself together to lead the others through these past few weeks, and I know I ended up hurting you more. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ten. I shouldn't have left you alone. I wish you'd said something before."

That stung. Ten winced but recognized the truth in Kun's words when he heard them. "I'm not good at that," he admitted, though it was nothing new. "You _know_ it makes me feel like I'm annoying all of you."

"I know, and you're not. We all need each other, sometimes. It's _good_ to speak up." Kun pressed his cheek to Ten's stomach and held him a little more tightly. "But we can talk about that later, okay? For now, just know I'm sorry for not paying more attention. For being too scared to face you. It dragged on too long."

Ten carded his fingers through Kun’s lush hair and felt his bottom lip tremble. They were both fools, Ten realized. Ten, for shuttering himself away and succumbing to his own misery; and Kun, for thinking that ignoring the situation meant he was dealing with it. “We're idiots,” he whispered. "And I don't blame you for what happened."

“I love you,” Kun said. 

“Be kinder to me,” Ten demanded.

“I will.” Kun pressed a kiss to Ten’s shirt, right under his belly button. “I will, I promise.”

.

Ten found it fascinating how much his left forearm had shrunk in muscle mass compared to his right when they cut the cast off of him. “It’s like my arms belong to two different bodies,” he joked when they were back in the van. Kun took his wrist in his hand and held it in his lap. Their manager was in the front seat, driving them back to the dorm on a road that was riddled with potholes and bumps.

“Now I could definitely beat you at arm wrestling,” Kun said. His thumb rubbed circles over the tender, soft skin of Ten’s inner wrist.

“You couldn’t,” Ten argued. “I’m right-handed, anyway. Plus, you’d let me win.”

“Oh, would I?” Kun raised his eyebrows, lips curled into a grin.

Ten nodded with certainty. “You pretty much always do.”

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“In a fair match, though...I’d still win.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve been working out.”

Ten eyed Kun’s bulging biceps with interest and licked his lips. “You have. Guess we’ll just have to have a match and see--”

“I’d really like for you not to break your arm again, Ten,” his manager piped up from the front of the van. “Can you give it another week before you challenge anyone to a feat of strength, please?”

Ten pouted and sank into his seat. “You’re no fun.”

“You wanna know what's not fun? Broken bones,” his manager said.

Beside him, Kun stifled his laughter. He held Ten’s wrist, brushed his thumb over the tiny scar that had formed because of the break. Then he raised Ten’s wrist up to his lips and kissed it. “Let’s not break anything for at least another month,” Kun murmured. “You’re very precious to me.”

Ten felt his face flush and grow hot. “I’m clumsy, so you’ll have to help me with that,” Ten whispered back. He leaned over in his seat to lay his head on Kun’s shoulder, sighing. “I don’t like it when we fight. I'm sorry for being difficult these past few weeks.”

Kun’s eyelids fluttered in surprise, but his expression quickly grew soft and fond. “I don’t like it when we fight like that either,” he said. “I'm sorry for not paying more attention. I’ll do better.”

“Me, too,” Ten said. He slotted their fingers together in Kun's lap and felt the road smooth out and flatten under the van's tires. The way home was easy, and Kun's shoulder under Ten's cheek was warm. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments and kudos always appreciated <3
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya) | [my cc](http://curiouscat.me/andnowforyaya)


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